


into the light

by impsy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dark, Episode 8x19 Taxi Driver, Gen, Hell, Spoilers, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-28
Updated: 2013-03-28
Packaged: 2017-12-06 19:24:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impsy/pseuds/impsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bobby's afterlife isn't quite what he imagined it'd be. [Spoilers from the preview/clip of 8x19 "Taxi Driver"]</p>
            </blockquote>





	into the light

**Author's Note:**

> Written while at work today after I saw the preview clip for this episode so obviously contains spoilers, as well as non-graphic torture.

The flask dissolved into the fire as Bobby's vision melted away from the room, his boys, their angel, to all blinding light, until all he could see was glowing white and couldn't feel a damn thing.

Then, with a horrible tearing sound, everything went utterly black.

That's when Bobby knew he was in trouble.

***

He's standing with hundreds, thousands, an uncountable number of people. Just... standing. Silent as the grave as they all slowly shuffle forward in line down a hallway that looks like it never ends. 

Bobby taps the shoulder of the woman in front of him. "You got any idea what's goin' on here?"

She doesn't reply, doesn't even turn around, and he reaches out, grabs her arm and yanks her around.

"Where the hell are we?!" he demands. But she just gazes blankly at him, dead in the eyes, and when he releases her, she turns around and takes a single step forward in line. 

"I think you answered your own question." Crowley's smiling broadly as he approaches, flanked by what must be a hellhound, but it's the size of a small horse and growls at him when he so much as glances at it.

Bobby's hands ball into fists. "So this is Hell?"

"The boring part," Crowley replies, waving a dismissive hand at the endless line. "And not where you'll be staying. Allow me to give you the grand tour."

"I'll pass."

Crowley laughs. "Afraid you don't have much of a choice, Mr. Singer."

"Let me guess. You're gonna torture me, and I can either talk or die."

"Well, since you're already dead..." He smirks. "It'll just be the former."

He slings an arm around his shoulder, and Bobby allows himself to be led away. Despite himself, he shivers.

***

"I'm getting a bit tired of asking, Bobby."

He gasps as the knife slides into his flesh, sharper than Bobby could ever get his own knives when he was alive, and he tries to distract himself wondering how he could have improved his own techniques.

"Where do you keep going? What's in your head that's so much more interesting than me? I'm feeling a bit neglected." Crowley sulks, reaching over to ruffle the ears on the hellhound that never leaves his side. "Are we boring you?"

He doesn't reply, just stares and imagines Sam and Dean finally killing the bastard.

"I asked you for the boys' hideouts. Just one or two, for now. Not a tough question. You haven't lost your mind, just your fingernails."

He stays silent, bites his tongue to keep from screaming as Crowley cuts and cuts and cuts-

A dramatic sigh from the demon above him brings him back for a moment, and he sees Crowley frowning at the bloodstains on his gray suit. "Brand new. This is never going to come out." 

He grins, blood in his teeth. "Good."

Crowley's eyes narrow minutely, and the hellhound leaps forward with a snarl and rips Bobby's throat out. 

***

It's always Crowley. Bobby thinks that he doesn't want to give any other demons the pleasure of ripping apart the man who raised the Winchesters.

But the consistency is both a blessing and a curse. Crowley occasionally has other things to oversee, being the king of hell and all, so some days Bobby's locked in his cell and doesn't see another soul for a few blissful days.

But Crowley also knows him. Too well. 

Some days, he'll send visions of the boys, gives them form so they can rip him apart with blades even as they tell him over and over that he was just a drunk, worse than useless, that they're so much better off now that he's dead.

With no idea how long he's been down here and no end in sight, those days are the hardest.

***

One day, Crowley comes alone, no sign of his hellhound anywhere. 

"Where's your bitch?" Bobby asks while he still has a tongue. 

Crowley's fingers tighten around the knife in his hand. "Your boys," he says, measuring his words carefully, "are a pain in the arse."

Bobby's laughter continues even as Crowley takes his sweet time ripping him apart.


End file.
